This Raging Light by Estelle Laure Page A

on—what?—a two-hundred-and-thirty-pound man and wrestled him off of your mom. I mean, that was really . . . amazing.”
    â€œIt wasn’t like that,” I say.
    â€œWhat was it like, then?”
    â€œI don’t know. He didn’t fight me. He let go of her as soon as I touched him. It was like he didn’t know what he was doing for a minute, like there was something else controlling him.”
    â€œTemporary insanity.”
    â€œI guess not so temporary.”
    â€œAnd you haven’t seen him?”
    â€œNo,” I say. “He wouldn’t see any of us. Mom tried a bunch of times, and then finally . . .” And then I say it out loud. “He disappeared too. He’s not at the clinic. My mom found out right before she left. I don’t know where either of them are. It’s like they evaporated.”
    He rubs my foot some, shakes his head. “I don’t know how anybody leaves you, either of you. But especially you. I don’t get it.”
    His hand is still resting on my foot. I am a giant foot, his hand a magical giant hand, and it is all over me. Breath. Less. Whole body warm and throbby.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Who is this boy I’ve known for most of always, and why is he everything?
    He smiles, and I swear, I swear his eyes are wet. “I don’t know.” He does not take his hand from my foot.
    I crawl. I fold myself over myself and I crawl over to him, annihilate all rational thought, everything that is telling me to stop, that what I am doing is wrong. I pause when I get close.
    Then his hand is on the base of my back and pulling me onto his lap. I rub against his slippery jock jacket, take his hat from his hands and let it drop. I run my fingers down the white stripes on his chest. Wimpy shallow breaths escape my lungs.
    The air that comes out of him is sweet, and I take it. The tips of his fingers push. I hope my air tastes as sweet to him. The very edges of our lips touch, and shock after shock zaps me. My eyes are open and staring at his closed lids, and then they snap open and we are so close that he is a blurry Cyclops. I am sucked into his single eye.
    â€œLucille.” He whispers it like a supplication.
    We kiss for real then, and I don’t implode or dissolve or fall all to pieces like I thought I would. I expand into deliciousness instead. We sink into each other. His lips are soft and his body is hard and grasping, and after we test each other’s mouths for a minute, it’s like we are the hungriest people on earth and someone has just served us to each other for dinner, for dessert. We’re steak and mashed potatoes with a side of gravy, and chocolate molten lava cake with whipped cream and raspberry sauce. We are decadent. No. He is a crisp, fresh, cool piece of pepper going down. Perfect, like I said.
    Which is when his phone vibrates on my leg and I jump back. It goes and goes and goes. His face says he knows it’s Elaine calling. He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t move at all. It vibrates forever before it finally stops. Another few seconds go by, and then it vibrates again. She left a message. What did it say?
    Maybe
Hi, it’s me. I love you, Digby. I miss you. Where are you? Call me when you get this.
I can almost hear her voice. What would she do if she knew her trustworthy boyfriend was all over another girl, and if she knew it was me? How would that make her feel?
    I scoot all the way back, lean myself against the couch’s arm. He looks like he has just lost something. He will run away now. He will leave and never come back.
    He pulls on one of my sweaty toes.
    â€œLucille, I—”
    â€œWah,”
I say,
“I am gorgeous. Wah, I have outrageous physical prowess. Wah, I have a beautiful girlfriend.”
I pause, try to get myself even.
    His voice is salty, like I stole everything sweet out of him. “I’m confused, Lucille. This ridiculous girl I have